


Fix Me Up (Put a Plaster On My Heart)

by tryslora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Bittersweet, Community: daily_deviant, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 01:10:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2005233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn’t Gwenog’s fault she keeps getting injured. She plays Quidditch the best way, all out, no holds barred! If it also happens to be the best way to see Poppy Pomfrey, well, that’s just a handy side-effect. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fix Me Up (Put a Plaster On My Heart)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the alternate pairing prompt (and additionally massage, once I got going) for June at Daily Deviant. Many thanks to M and M for alpha and beta help! As always, I do not own the world nor characters of Harry Potter, I just like to play with them.

“Oi, girls, I’m good, just set me down here.” Gwenog winces as she’s lowered to the edge of the cot and manages to hitch her way back onto it without putting her left hand down. “M’sure Madame Pomfrey will have me right as rain in just a few.”

She sees the way they hover around her, hands fluttering and making worried noises, and she snorts. “Bloody hell, girls, I’m injured every other week, aren’t I? I’ll be fine. Go on back to the field and finish out with laps and drills, then get some food. I’ll see you in the common room tonight. And tell Davies that if she leaves the rings again because she sees Rogers in the stands, I’m going to give her position away. Millerton might be a second year, but he’s almost as good as she is, and he’s not distracted.”

It’s funny how much the fluttering of other girls seems alien to her, but she manages to shoo them away soon enough and they leave her with the quiet and her pain. She groans as she pulls her legs up, sitting cross-legged on the cot.

“What have you done now?” Poppy is all business as soon as she appears, wand out, spells being cast in a dizzying flurry that Gwenog can’t keep up with. After all these injuries, Gwenog feels like she ought to know all the spells Poppy uses for diagnosis, but she’s still completely amazed every time.

“Had to see you, so I got my arse knocked off the broom from thirty feet up.” Gwenog shrugs her good shoulder, making a face when that hurts too. “Rolled, hit shoulder first. Cushioned it some, but not enough. Feel like I’ve had a bloody dragon trample over me.”

“And have you actually done that?” Poppy’s eyebrows lift. “I’d hardly be surprised if you had. Miss Jones, you need to take care of your body. Magic may help, but there is nothing that will keep you from destroying yourself if you insist on lacking care.”

“Don’t talk like you’re old,” Gwenog teases. “I know your hair’s gone white, but you’re not that much older than me. _Poppy_.” She says the name deliberately, drawing it out in a slow, lazy drawl. “I remember when you turned thirty.”

“I was twice as old as you then.”

“And horribly resistant to my charms.” Gwenog lifts her hand, manages to lightly touch Poppy’s cheek before the healer pulls away. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You have two more months at Hogwarts,” Poppy reminds her. “And we agreed that we would _never_ on the grounds.”

“I have two more months at Hogwarts and I _want to_ ,” Gwenog says firmly. “Poppy, once I leave, I might not see you again for years.”

“And you’ll forget about me.”

“Never.” Gwenog lets the word slip loose like a vow, long and low. “Poppy, I lo—”

A fingertip presses against her lips. “You are _seventeen_ , my dear,” Poppy whispers. “You have so much ahead of you. You don’t know your heart yet and those words mean so much.”

“That’s why I’m _saying_ them.” Gwenog _knows_. She _knows_ how she feels and she understands that someday it might be different, that they might never have the chance to have a forever. But she doesn’t want forever. She just wants _love_. And she wants to give love, too.

“There is a power in words, my dear.” Poppy sits down next to her on the cot, fingers light as they travel over Gwenog’s shoulder, careful and sure. “You’re a bright witch, for all that you prefer strength over mind. You know how important words can be.”

Gwenog leans into her touch, hungry for whatever Poppy is willing to give her, even if it is under the guise of healing her wounds. “I know how important it can be to hear the important ones,” she says quietly. “I know how much it hurts to hear other ones. Poppy, I want you to know how I feel. If I leave here and can never come back, I want you to have that, at least, to hold onto.” And she wants to have it to hold in her own heart, as well.

Poppy lets out a small huff of sound. “You haven’t dislocated anything, nor broken any bones. You do, however, have some grave bruising that goes deep down to the bone, and your muscles have reacted poorly.”

“Reacted poorly? What does that mean?”

“Stay here.” Poppy pats her knee, squeezing gently before she moves away. Gwenog watches as Poppy gathers a small tin from one cabinet, then another from her office. Poppy stops by the door and touches it; Gwenog hears the distinctive hiss of wards being activated.

Gwenog is smiling by the time Poppy returns and tugs a curtain around them for a semblance of privacy. She tugs off her shirt, wincing at the pain of it going over her arm, but feeling better already as soon as she sits there in nothing more than the bottom half of her Quidditch uniform. Her nipples peak in the chill of the room, small tips atop small breasts, and she sees Poppy’s gaze drop.

“It’s easier for you to work on my arm when you can get to it,” she says innocently.

“Brat,” Poppy murmurs, but the word is low and fond. “Lie down. Put the pillow under your chest and put yours arms up so you have a space for your head.” 

It only takes a moment for her to get situated, then another for Poppy to hand her another pillow for her hips, lifting her bottom slightly in the air. “You have damage to your left hip as well,” Poppy says easily. “It may not hurt as much now, but it will tomorrow if we don’t treat it.”

Gwenog makes a small noise, loving the way this puts her on display. “Do you want me to take off the trousers, too? I wouldn’t want you to miss anything.”

A hesitation before Poppy whispers, “Yes.”

Gwenog doesn’t get up, awkwardly shimmying free of her uniform, shoving the trousers down and kicking them away. The frilly knickers aren’t regulation uniform, but she knew she’d end up here; it wasn’t like she didn’t _plan_ to fall at least once today. She’s known for her full-tilt attitude and her dangerous methods on the pitch. Sometimes the most well-known excuses really are the best.

She closes her eyes, listening to the way Poppy breathes, the soft inhalation and little hiss when she exhales, as if her chest is too tight. Gwenog wiggles a little, the lace stretched tight over her arse.

She is disappointed when Poppy’s warm hands fall first to her shoulder. Fingertips smooth warm balm over her skin, leaving a tingling sensation in the wake of her touch. Gwenog whimpers, pushing into her gentle touch, sighing when Poppy picks up a different tin and spreads something warm and oily on her shoulder.

“Relax,” Poppy murmurs, fingers gliding over skin. She digs gently, carefully, pushing at the sore muscles and easing them into relaxation. Gwenog sighs, trying to let go, just letting herself _feel_ for the time while Poppy touches her.

Poppy starts at her shoulders, working the injured one first, then moving across to the other. She glides up Gwenog’s neck, teasing at the small lines of muscle down her spine, waiting for that moment when Gwenog goes limp beneath her. “T’so _good_ ,” Gwenog whispers.

“Lie still.” One hand on pushes against her arse while the other glides down her side, barely touching the swell of her breast. Gwenog gasps, tries to twist into it, but Poppy holds her firmly. “Do not move.”

Gwenog can’t even try to breathe, tension slipping back in, the sensation delicious. Poppy manages to get two fingers beneath Gwenog, teasing wetly at her nipple, stroking it with warm oil. Gwenog whines, and Poppy pinches, rolling her nipple lightly. “Please,” she begs.

“Your hip,” Poppy says instead. She keeps her hand where it is, fingers slick against one taut nipple, while she strokes Gwenog’s arse with her other hand. “You need to relax, my dear. You need to let go.”

There is only one sort of letting go that Gwenog hungers for, and she pushes her bum back into Poppy’s hand. “Yes, please,” she whispers. “ _Please_ , love.”

Poppy’s finger is wet, perfectly slick when it slips beneath the lace of Gwenog’s knickers. Poppy teases at her crack, glides the touch around her puckered hole, and it feels _good_ in ways that Gwenog never expected. Then Poppy moves on, parting her swollen lips gently, teasing between them until Gwenog arches into her and whines for more.

“You’re such a beautiful, wet girl,” Poppy tells her softly, fingers slipping inside her slit. Gwenog groans, grinding forward against the pillow under her hips, feeling the pressure against her clit while Poppy fucks her slowly, a shallow motion that arouses and teases as much as it fulfills.

“Oh, bloody hell.” Gwenog mouths the words into the pillow, trying to hide the high pitched whine as she grinds between fingers and bed. Poppy is barely giving her _anything_ and it’s already too much, the way she tweaks her nipple at just the same moment as her fingers slide in and out. Gwenog closes her eyes and lets herself go, slipping over the edge with a low groan, shivering through her orgasm.

Poppy slides her fingers free, massaging Gwenog’s hip as if nothing has happened. “Good, you’ll feel better if you’ve relaxed. Let’s see if we can work the unguent in properly…”

“I think I should spend the next hour here for observation.” Gwenog sighs, eyes still closed as she blindly reaches for Poppy, capturing her fingers. The touch stills, and after a moment, Gwenog risks rolling over and sitting up, _looking_ at Poppy properly.

There are tears in the older woman’s eyes, pricking at the corners, just about to fall. “I do love you,” Poppy whispers. “I do. And in two months, you will leave Hogwarts and there is nothing I can do. There is a whole world out there for you, just waiting to see you conquer it. And I will be here.”

“Waiting?” Gwenog asks.

Poppy shakes her head. “Loving you, but not waiting. What will be, will be.”

Gwenog feels the words deep in her gut, and she understands. She knows the world won’t stand still around her, and that chances of _this_ surviving her leaving are slim. But she smiles then and pulls Poppy close, kissing her quiet. “That’s two months away,” she says firmly. “And in two months we can spend a lot of time together. And every moment of it I will show you _exactly_ how I feel, and you can show me, and no matter what comes next, we will carry that with us. Because no matter what happens, I will always remember just how much I have loved you.” She touches Poppy’s cheek lightly. “And I will remember how much I have been loved. Because so many people never get to experience that. And I already have, thanks to you.”

Gwenog doesn’t wait for answer, pulling Poppy with her to the bed. Maybe later there will be time for talk. Right now, all the words have been said, and she wants to prove the emotion behind the words. After all, she fell off a broom for Poppy… how they feel is no longer the question. The only thing that remains is if they only have a few months left, to spend them as best they can.

And Gwenog intends to start working on that right now.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


End file.
